65 The March to Highgarden

"Archers! With me!" Ser Addam Marbrand fought to regain his saddle, mount neighing in pain from an arrow that grazed it's rump. His squire was down, arrow piercing his chest. Pink froth caked his lips, taking in short, gasping breaths as if he were retching. There was no doubt he would soon die.

"You hurt, my Lord?" Addam looked up to find Ser Flement Brax riding up to him, sweat and blood staining his hair - It didn't seem to be his.

Addam shook his head. "Nock!" he screamed at the archers, dismounted Westerlands riders noted for their skill at firing while on the move. "Loose!" The thwang of nearly four dozen bows filled the air as the Dragon Bitch's army would taste their own medicine. "What is it?!" Brax was an eager warrior, despising the Starks for the death of his older brother during the War of the Four Kings. But now Addam was preoccupied with a battle that should not be taking place.

"We're moving more men to the bridge. Last of our reserves," Brax informed him. "Young Wolf is demonstrating in front of us, reinforcing the Manderlys with Glover men."

Cursing, Addam took a swig of his canteen, filled with sour wine. It was dry, impossibly dry, dust and chaff blown everywhere by the wind. He looked back towards the Stoney Sept, men at arms rushing towards the bridge over Blackwater Rush. It was one of solid foundation, stone dating since before the Blackfyre Rebellions. Just ten minutes more and the Starks would have taken it, but a fast rush from the castle that broke dozens of mounts had seen the Lannisters get to it first. They had driven off the Manderly's, but with the loss of nearly a quarter of their number. Men that couldn't be replaced.

It had just been three nights ago that the raven came from King's Landing about the Dothraki incursions to the north near Harrenhal. The massive forces the Targaryens were gathering there. That this section of the line was merely a backwater to nourish the new crop of cavalry horses. But then all hells broke out. This wasn't some raiding or scouting force. This wasn't just some lone detachment of troops. Nope, this was the Whispering Wood all over again, Robb Stark at the lead of a column of crack Northern bannermen. Behind him likely the entire Targaryen army.

There was no other choice. Marband would have to hold here while word was sent out. Perhaps then Kevan Lannister could retake this vital bridge and the Stoney Sept before the Dragon Bitch moved more men south.

"My Lord, they're coming." Sure enough, the banners of houses Stark, Manderly, and Glover were bearing down on the bridge. Crossbowmen at the front, they formed a tight wall of shields and spears - enough to smash through the dismounted light cavalry of his force.

Undaunted, he grabbed a young lad. "Get this dispatch to Kevan Lannister at Hayford Castle!" The letter had the quick scrawl of the enemy positions, exactly what Robb Stark had brought up and where Marband thought he was going. "Avoid the roads and don't stop. Steal a mount if you have to switch. Understood." The lad nodded, mounting his horse and galloping off.

More shouting rang out. "The Young Wolf is extending the line to the east," Brax said, voice trembling. "He has Dothraki with him!"

A thousand Dothraki screamers had poured over a ford in Blackwater Rush, unseen by the Lannister scouts too preoccupied with the probing assaults by the northern bannermen. What few light cavalry were in reserve were swept aside by the charging horde, steel cutting through the leather armor of the unprepared forces. Bannermen filled to the brim with anger at the various atrocities against their lands and countrymen by House Lannister, they assaulted the bridge with ferocity. Crossbows and swords did their best, but when the bridge refused to break, Lord Glover ordered his five cannon into action.

The cannon shell struck a one in a million shot. Inaccurate to the point of prayers being said of hitting within a four yard range, the massive device impacted directly into a supply wagon. The projectile turned the wooden vehicle into kindling, broken and shattered shards of hardy oak flying through the air - many directly into the Lannister command post. Men tumbled from their mounts, blood and flesh sprayed everywhere as the wooden shrapnel sliced through people like the sharpest Valyrian Steel.

Hoofbeats drummed around the former command post, Dothraki screamers combing through the wreckage for anything worth looting as the rest of them charged towards the rest of the cavalry. Dismounting with ease, they kicked bodies or parts of bodies over, blades going for the throats of those still breathing but likely to die - what use were they as prisoners. One of them was Addam Marbrand. A foot-long shard had punched straight through his lungs, blood oozing out.

"We have to hold," Addam said, voice weak and faint. He struggled to open his eyes, body numb and any movement feeling as if he were drowning in quicksand.

"Rest easy." The sound was new, tone calm and comforting. "You fought admirably. A true warrior."

Lord Maraband recognized the voice. That of an old foe. One to respect, but one thought defeated only to rise again. "Robb Stark? Is that you?"

"Aye, Lord Marband. It is."

Sighing, the last thought in Addam Marband's mind was a prayer to the Seven to protect his young son from the pain of war.

Watching as a final breath passed the lips of the loyal Lord of the Westerlands, Robb Stark pushed off the ground where he was kneeling. Another noble house finding its members nearly wiped out. Another legacy destroyed by this terrible war. By Joffrey's hubristic madness. 'Gods, grant us the strength to finish it here, in this campaign,' he silently prayed.

"Lord Stark." Looking up, Robb saw Lord Glover trotting up to him. "We took the bridge. Captured most of their forces too. Having the Dothraki slam into their rear took the fight right out of them."

"How many battalions did not engage the enemy?" he asked.

"About five, my Lord. The rest are at various states of understrength. It'll take some time to reform them."

Robb shook his head in frustration. 'Too little damn time. Far too little damn time.' "Get them moving, Lord Glover." He glared at the Dothraki bloodrider who had escorted him across the ford in the blackwater, who spoke some common tongue. "And form up your men for the advance screen. We have no time to loot and rape!" A glance was sent to the body of Lord Marband. "And find some men to bury him with honor!" Robb hoped that the opposite side would do the same for him.

Pulling back the flap of his tent, Jaime found Bronn sitting in a camp chair. He fiddled with one of his knives, muddy boots perched on the table. "So what happened at the war council?" asked the former sellsword.

Sighing, Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose. "Messenger came in from Lord Marband at Stoney Sept. Said Robb Stark was attacking with the entirety of Houses Glover and Manderly. Marband thinks that he's at the head of a large column of men trying to sneak around us and capture Highgarden."

"Do ya' believe the poor fucker?"

"Seemed earnest enough, but father and Randyll Tarly feel that the troop movements to our north necessitate that the Dragon Queen is preparing a full assault south." No one feared Daenerys Targaryen as a military mind - conqueror yes, but her strategic and tactical thinking wasn't one to write home about. For the man that composed the Reynes of Castamere and mande Dorne howl, the true worry was the Emperor Jon Snow. But with Jon Snow a weakling and under the control of an angry wife, Tywin Lannister felt that the only logical choice was to hunker down and beat back the inevitable frontal assault on the capitol.

Only it wasn't going that way at all.

Only no one seemed to see it, too blinded by Jon Snow's indecision at the dragonpit.

"Army isn't moving out, is it?" Bronn saw it too.

Jaime shook his head, going directly for the wine. "He's sending Uncle Kevan down the Goldroad as a precaution, but is keeping most of us here." He knocked back the flagon by himself, not caring to pour himself a glass. 'Perhaps Tyrion has the right idea.' Spending the day drunk off one's ass sounded so appealing.

"I've been skirmishing with the 'scouting parties' the Imperials send ahead of their 'main forces.' Nothing but Vale knights of House Royce and/or Dothraki. No other units, which doesn't sit right with me. The fuckers are all getting around our flank and no one has the fuckin' brains to see it!" Bronn had quite a lot of tolerance for things - tolerance for stupidity wasn't one of them.

Not stopping until he had drained half the flagon, Jaime took in a breath and steadied himself on one of the tentpoles. "People have brains… the question is whether fighting for this cause is worth it."

Bronn's eyes went wide, head jerking up to look at Jaime in shock. Was the Lannister saying what he thought he was saying? Was it shocking that he didn't really give a shit?

It had bothered Jaime a lot in recent weeks. Whether to betray his son? Or if the man that had killed his King to save hundreds of thousands of lives had any choice in the matter? Because it felt to Jaime as if history repeated itself - and that to save what he had left, he had to let the dice fly high.

"I will ask you to do something, Bronn. Something that will put you in grave danger, yet also put you in a position to do you great harm. If you wish to decline, leave right now and we shall never speak of it."

The former sellsword snorted. "I ain't left you yet, Kingslayer." He stood, sheathing his knife. "I didn't much like King's Landing anyway."

"Lord Stark. It's the Emperor."

Sprawled out over a long chair, so tired the night before that he hadn't even managed to take off his cuirass and boots, Robb found a horse blanket draped over him. One of his soldiers must have done it. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked the man. Blinking away the fatigue, he found it to be Daryn Hornwood, his aide.

"Four hours, My Lord," the young Hornwood replied, suppressing a grin - badly. "You've been riding all the last two days, so we figured you needed it."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"My Lord, you needed it."

Embarrassed, he pushed the blanket off and bolted upright just as his brother walked in. He bowed sloppily. "Sire."

"Get up, jackass," Jon replied, wrapping his arms around Robb in a brotherly hug. "I see the forced are proceeding across the intact bridge. Good job in capturing it intact, brother."

Robb smiled faintly at the praise. Despite it all, his prowess in battlefield tactics still retained the sharp edge of the Riverlands campaigns repelling Tywin and Jaime Lannister at the start of the War of the Five Kings - not that it was enough to save his father. "You were the one to give the orders, brother."

"Stop being modest and accept your Emperor's praise," Jon replied, smacking him on the back. "And don't fret about the sleep. You deserved it."

Truth be told, the fatigue was still bothering him - along with unanswered questions. "Brother, you still haven't told anyone about what happened at the Dragonpit. Such widely different personalities… it isn't the sign of a stable mind."

Jon wrapped an arm around his shoulder, chuckling. "We're holding a meeting in the Lady's solar. You'll get your answers." Nodding, Robb let his brother escort him out. He was apprehensive for the revelations.

It was a small war council. Jon, Robb, Daenerys, Theodosius Caryn, and Grey Worm, along with Catelyn and Tyrion of the civilian leadership. The final two generals only being there due to their respective commands passing through the bridge. "I received a report from Riverrun," Caryn stated. "The last of Lord Tully's battalions have departed. All that's left are Qhono's Dothraki and Lord Royce, demonstrating in front of Tywin's best. He doesn't look like he's moving yet."

"Tywin won't move." All eyes turned to Catelyn. "He thinks her Highness is angered and would want to give fire and blood to the capitol, not flank around to capture Highgarden. He'll stay until the magnitude of what we have done shows itself."

"Good," Grey Worm remarked. "Our force it too…" he pondered what word was to be used. "...stretched out along countryside. Weak to attack." The Unsullied had just left on the road to Harrenhal behind the main Dothraki force and ten thousand auxiliaries.

"With the snowmelt, the only means of attack to cut our advance in the middle is the Goldroad." Caryn pointed to scrawls of troop concentrations near the capitol. "Kevan Lannister. He has around fifteen thousand men. Westerlands regulars and sellswords. Not the best, but enough to cut us off until Tywin can reinforce him."

Jon stroked his chin, contemplating. "If we hold at this collection of farming hamlets where the Blackwater Rush meets the Goldroad, would a force about half that size hold?"

"It should, and would get reinforcement from other units and commands marching south. Could catch Kevan in an envelopment if the defending force doesn't buckle."

"Robb." The Emperor turned to the Warden of the North. "Your forces have been resting since taking the Stoney Sept. How many are fit for combat duty?"

"Around seven thousand, your Majesty."

"They will have Balerion and myself," Daenerys stated, tone one not to take no for an answer.

"I can supplant them with two thousand men in a division of auxiliaries currently crossing the bridge, sire," Caryn interjected. Jon was grateful. Nine thousand elite men could hold back Kevan Lannister from prepared positions. Couple that with a dragon… he didn't want his beloved to risk herself, but if he was Aegon she was most definitely Visenya.

And now for the final matter of business.

There was silence. "To tell you the truth, we had a few questions about that." Tyrion, grabbing at the pitcher of watered wine on the table. "I happen to hope that I was drunk for most of the last few weeks, rather than see my ruler basically shift between a conqueror rivalling Aegon into a scared boy wishcasting for peace. But I wasn't so please let me know." He poured himself a sizable helping.

Sharing a look with Catelyn, Jon smiled softly. "Everyone told me how my father's honor was both highly and lowly regarded by my enemies. How Joffrey… and frankly, his cabal, relished how they fooled him using simply the fact that he trusted people at their word." He looked at Dany, who's eyes had narrowed. "My victory in Essos notwithstanding, if they believed the commander of the Imperial Army was weak as his father was, and only goaded into battle by his wife…"

"...Only to be overconfident in attacking someone who's heart wasn't in the war…" Out of nowhere Tyrion began cracking up, deep guffaws causing to wine to clatter to the floor. "Brilliant! I only wish I could see my father's face…" He couldn't continue, laughing to the point of tears. Soon, all had joined in at the revelation of their Emperor's strategic mind… except for the Empress.

Catching the unreadable look from his wife, Jon snapped into action. "I wish to confer with the Empress. Dismissed to your positions." To smiles from the other Lords, and an inebriated laugh from Tyrion, he watched them all leave. Finally alone with his wife.

Eyes boring in on him, Daenerys' expression was blank at Jon's confession. Her silence grated on him. Normally stoic and unflappable, the White Dragonwolf found himself crumbling under his wife's gaze. Suddenly, his still clean-shaven cheek was knocked to the side, reddening handprint forming from her palm contacting with it. And just as suddenly after that, Jon found his head pulled down and Dany's lips colliding with his.

The kiss lasted nearly half a minute, hungry and passionate. Daenerys plundered her husband's mouth with all the pent up emotion of the last few weeks. Breathing deeply, the two broke apart, staring into each other's eyes. "Dany…"

"Jon…" Brimming with both anger in his deception and pure pride in his masterful strategic brilliance in the situation, Dany had let it both out. "You are brilliant."

He chuckled softly, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry, my love. I wanted to tell you."

"You should have." She nuzzled his chest. "I would have played along."

"Your reactions needed to be genuine. I was worried that Tywin or Baelish would see right through you. They expected me to be Ned Stark, to copy my father's honorable nature. They would trust my naivete as genuine… to their undoing." He allowed himself a dark grin.

Daenerys grinned as well, hugging him closer. Her mouth opened to tell him another fact that she had just found out - something that would bring them joy… but held off. Not now. Not while he was stressed with the attack as it was.

Her hand drifted to her stomach. 'Soon.'

Mace Smith, named by his father for the late Lord of Highgarden, swatted away the flies from his ear. A wagon driver in service to the crown - ever since the former dominion of House Tyrell had been turned into yet another personal dominion of the Baratheon King following the Tyrell alliance with 'King' Renly - the vehicle was loaded to the brim with thirty-pound sacks of grain destined for the starving mouths of King's Landing. Well, only a few of them, the rest going into the side dishes of the favored nobility. The job paid enough to feed his belly.

And he despised it. The money was barely enough to make the fact working for the decrepit Baratheons and Lannisters anything less than disgusting. Those two houses had destroyed House Tyrell, robbing it of whatever hope it had. Only the Seven knew whether the beautiful Margaery wasn't in an icy grave in the North.

Rumors flew about, of seismic defeats to the north. Tywin dead. King's Landing burning at the hands of dragons. Dothraki hordes looting and raping the countryside. Flicking the reins attached to the mules, Mace had enough. "Fuck this shit!"

"What's up?" asked one of his friends, driving a different wagon.

"Orders, we're heading out of here. Dothraki are a comin'!"

It soon spread like wildfire. "Where in seven hells are you going?!" The demand/question was always the same, nearly always in confusion rather than anger.

And the answer never faltered. "Idiot King's holed up the army in the capitol! Fuckin' Dothraki Horde coming straight for us!"

And with that, the panic began. Any chance to rescue the grain stores in Highgarden before the Imperial Army arrived was lost.